Isa Cruz

Roused by a gentle alarm, I drag my weary body out of bed, nab a few poetry collections off my bookshelf (Ada Limón and Ross Gay are in heavy rotation) and scramble down the Coles Tower stairwell to the WBOR station, where I host my poetry and music radio show every Saturday at 8 a.m. Around 9:05, Daniel Hennelly ’26 and I make our way to Moulton for breakfast. I nab the latest copy of the Orient from the newsstand in preparation for a dramatic reading of the security report, and we sally in, all beanies and killer curly hair.

Doug’s there behind the check-in counter to greet us: wishing us a happy weekend in tie-dye sweaters and bee-themed everything. He greets us as troublemakers: Daniel for his infamous series of toilet pictures last semester, me for my association with Daniel.

We grab a table wherever the sun falls in the Light Room—between 4 p.m. sunsets and our hours spent developing film photographs, we don’t exactly crave darkness. The football coaches are there, whom Dan knows from his short stint as a kicker on the team, and so he gives ’em a hearty, “Mornin’, fellas!” before sauntering towards the coffee: Maine State Parks, taken black. It used to be the Heart of Women, but he said it’s really gone downhill from its exciting initial introduction in the dining hall rotation. Not very feminist, he says, and I agree.

I grab the same breakfast I’ve been getting since first year—three chocolate chip pancakes; an Egg McMoulton graced by a veggie sausage patty, ketchup swirl and Cholula/Tapatio dousing; a bowl of yogurt with the still-frozen strawberry bits, chia seeds, and a hint of honey—while Dan starts in on the laborious process of hand squeezing orange juice. Each time, there’s a magic number: the number of oranges it takes to fill a standard-issue Bowdoin Dining glass, varying based on season. (Note: We categorically reject the tiny plastic cups next to the press.) From the wisdom of his bartending days, Daniel taught me to roll the oranges out on the cutting board. We’ve been delighted by the new machine in Moulton, which John from Dining calls the “Cadillac of orange juicers”: none of the histrionic rattling of the old days.

If the familiar smell of chile garlic oil and scallions wafts over from the itinerant congee bar, we’re especially thrilled. Regardless, the company is unparalleled. This year, we’ve been graced by the presence of Hannah Smart ’27, my twin flame from our first-year drawing class, and Lance Hulme ’28, who one day happened to sit in the crossfire of our cross-room conversation and has been coming back ever since. Dan and  I share strange dreams, scheme our Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band and carry across the miles our memories of the American South.

After we linger over our empty plates, Dan grabs a coffee on the way out to pair with a cigarette, and we settle into the warmth of his ambiguous-green Subaru. Depending on the weather, sometimes we pop the trunk and sit in the tailgate; he calls it a front porch of sorts. We take turns sharing our favorite music with each other: My education in country/Americana, feminist punk, hyphy and Houston rap has been a thorough one. Eventually, we feel propelled enough by the momentum of the weekend—laundry or phone calls to our moms await—and part ways.

We’ve been doing this every Saturday since early last spring semester. We never named it; it just is. As the best rituals fall into our lives: unassuming, with significance that can only be recognized long after they begin to take shape. As the best people fall into our lives: quietly, as if they’ve always been there. Or, in Dan’s case, trotting on in, saddled with sass, with the assuredness of a big dawg, the ferality of a baby squirrel and the heart of a babygirl.

We only have two more of these breakfasts in their usual incarnation before we are whisked away by the universe from this ritual and each other’s lives for a time: me off to Chile, him graduating (how rude!). We’ve been anticipating the end, each in our own quiet and humorous way.

There exists a halo around these bleary-eyed meals, swaddled in sunlight and dependable company. I know I’ll remember them in the syrupy-warm tones of Kodak Gold film. Till the next diner meet-up, I’ll be counting the magic number of oranges for juice.

Isa & Dan’s Saturday Morning Jams

“Turn to Hate” – Orville Peck

“In Bloom” – Sturgill Simpson

“In Dreams” – Sierra Ferrell

“Tuesday’s Gone” – Lynyrd Skynyrd

“Daddy Sang Bass” – Brothers of the Heart

“Daddy Was a Preacher, Mama Was a Go-Go Girl” – Southern Culture on the Skids

“Pool Hopping” – illuminati hotties

“Boys Wanna Be Her” – Peaches

“Use Me Up” – UGK

“Thangin” – Cousin Fik, E-40, Too $hort

Isa Cruz is a member of the Class of 2027.